


tired

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Depression, M/M, Mention of Starvation, Mild Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26035477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: and, really, if anyone asks, he just came up here for some fresh air. climbing up way too many steps to get to the rooftop of hope’s peak academy, and if anyone asks, he really is just trying to breathe again, and if anyone asks why he can’t breathe, he’ll just call it allergies.it’s spring. maybe. he can count on his pinky finger the amount of springs he remembers.(hinata meets someone on a rooftop.)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, not ship oriented - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 153





	tired

**Author's Note:**

> TW
> 
> this has heavy suicidal ideation. i'm not even sure how that one happened. i sort of just wrote and then like,,, anyway, doesn't matter. please please please take care of yourself. if suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts in (some) detail, etc will trigger you, please don't read this. it's not particularly cathartic, and there isn't a lot of healing, here. please please please take care of yourself.
> 
> you are needed, and you are wanted, and you are loved. if you are feeling suicidal, please call a suicide hotline or seek professional help. you've got this.

he can hear the wind just a decibel louder than the blood roaring in his ears.

a heartbeat-- _thrum, thrum, thrum_ \-- that echoes inside a head filled with _emptiness_ , if he’s going off of what all his teachers say. glazed eyes and pointless thoughts, waxing poetic who hates poetry, his memory unable to chirp back information, but can effortlessly repeat _you’re not gonna make it, you’re not gonna make it._ it’s loud, everything is _loud,_ it’s always like alarm clocks are going off in his stomach before it even hits six am, and he looks like an insomniac loser with messed up hair and bags under his eyes (because he is that, anyway. an insomniac loser). it’s all so _agonizingly loud,_ and he’s so tired he can’t focus on _anything,_

and, really, if anyone asks, he just came up here for some fresh air. climbing up way too many steps to get to the rooftop of hope’s peak academy, and if _anyone asks,_ he really is just trying to breathe again, _and if anyone asks why he can’t breathe,_ he’ll just call it allergies.

it’s spring. maybe. he can count on his pinky finger the amount of springs he remembers.

nothing wants him to jump except a quiet voice in the back of his head, cutting through every reason and desire to stay alive with a quiet, _why not?_ and there’s so much keeping him from this very place, some larger than himself (his parents would probably be pretty pissed off) and some very superficial and base (the last time he climbed over a railing, he was thirteen and got scrapes on his hands, and this railing looks cold). and yet, and _yet,_ there’s still this stupid, tiny question of,

_have you ever tried it?_

he wants to claw into himself, honestly, with bitten down fingernails and whatever it might take, drawing out the parts of himself that hate him and holding them by the throat, screaming in their faces, _suicide isn’t something you can try, why are you doing this to me, why do you hate me why can’t i remember anything_ **_why am i so tired,_ ** but it’s not like they’ll listen, not like he’ll listen to himself, even if he’s asphyxiating at the very hand he will write his will with.

(who would even be in his will? he has a couple of friends, sure, but he doesn’t think kuzuryuu will give a shit about his possessions, since she’s rich and sort of snobby, and nanami doesn’t need to deal with more shit in her life. koizumi can hardly be called his friend, since they talked only a couple of times, and… the musician ultimate, who smiled at him in the hallway once, probably wouldn’t even notice. 

it’s not like he has much to give, anyway. school could probably just sell it for some extra funding. they aren’t below that.)

he isn’t going to kill himself, not on a day as ordinary as this one. nothing happens on april 28th, not that he can really remember, but he just sits and sits and sits and stares at the horizon hoping that maybe it’ll talk to him again, maybe give him some semblance of an idea. he runs autonomously, and he _hates_ it, falling asleep every day with no clue how he’ll exist the next day, only to repress everything and just run off of failing grades and a sliver of inferiority (more of a sliver, more like a slice). he just wants an escape, and that’s why he _wants_ to kill himself, kind of, underneath the macabre curiosity of what’ll happen afterwards, but there’s so much he hasn’t done and he has a test in a couple of days,

and maybe if he jumps, goes off the edge right now, he won’t have to take the test, the test they shoved out at the beginning of the school year because the reserve course students needed another thing to worry about, but he’s not going to die for something like _that._ he wants to have a bigger purpose, wants to fall in love, maybe wants to do all the normal things like go to a party or fall in love or pull an all nighter watching netflix or see a therapist, as if that’s a cool thing to do. but as he’s sitting here, he feels like nothing.

the wind is really loud, and the blood is a bit softer, and as he stares out with his eyes burning (he blames it on the cold night), he hears something even quieter.

footsteps.

he knows that if it was someone who knew him, they would recognize his spiky hair (the only thing that makes him noticeable) and call out. he knows that if it was a teacher, he would get faux concern before being immediately told off, a sort of _i hope you’re okay_ and _you’re getting detention for breaking school rules._ if it was someone who hated him, they might have just turned around and let him die, let him _supposedly_ die.

but whoever it is just walks and sits beside him, and he turns his head to look at them. green murky eyes, rimmed red. white hair that seems sort of nice to touch. a smile splitting their face in painful halves. a main course uniform that leaves him with a bit of a sting.

he faces the horizon again. nothing interesting. nothing new.

besides him, the person speaks. “a reserve course student, coming here to kill himself?”

he sighs. their voice is nice, at least. it’s sort of raspy and fucked up, but it suits the taunting words they give, at least. “i’m not here to kill myself,” he replies, because it’s not like he can disprove much of the former.

“ah, okay!” they almost seem excited. what’s exciting about any of this? “does reserve-kun have a name?”

“hinata.” there’s no point saying his first name. it’s not like it matters, when he tumbles off a rooftop at some point, even if it isn’t today. he’ll write it in neat print at the top of his exam, and his brain will parrot it back to him while he tries to tune everything out, so it’s not like the main course student needs to be saying it, too. not like anybody really cares about a _hajime._

“what a hopeful name,” the other says sort of sarcastically, but it’s not like hinata knows them well enough to disprove anything. “i’m komaeda nagito, shsl lucky. not that you asked, haha.”

hinata recognizes that name. this person is supposed to hate reserves, value hope, or something weird. nanami never outright called him fanatical, but the stories hinata has heard have certainly painted a kind of picture. which, well, he isn’t exactly pissed at the other, not when he feels so empty, but he probably would have preferred to sit on a rooftop with someone else.

speaking of that. “why are you up here?” he asks. he’s not all that conversational, has ghosted way too many people and blamed it on an exhaustion he can’t seem to shake (and it’s so hard to focus on literally fucking _anything,_ because text messages are just blue little bubbles and white little bubbles and everything is just a blur of colors he doesn’t give a shit about, because he sort of hates every color, hates how tired he is, hates how he can push himself to his limit and still fall apart the next day. and maybe that’s a cause worth dying for, maybe if he pushes himself off the balcony he can stop being so fucking tired).

“ah, well, i was actually, hm.” this person uses a lot of filler words. good for him, he guesses. “i was planning on killing myself, haha. you see, today’s my birthday. or, well, it would be, but i suppose it’s past midnight now,” his lips curl up into a sad smile. “i’ll wait another year, haha. maybe i’ll finally get it right.”

hinata would raise an eyebrow if he wasn’t fighting back some yawns. his head feels fuzzy with fatigue, his eyes burning and his lips turned downwards. “do you do this annually?”

“ever since i was seven!” he replies cheerfully. “i fail every time, though, and usually someone else gets hurt. i really do hope you don’t get hurt, hinata-kun, that would be rather unfortunate. not that i would intentionally push you off, but the breeze would kill you. and, i guess that the death of a reserve isn’t as bad as the death of an ultimate, but i think it would be much nicer to see my blood splattered on the pavement than to see yours, don’t you think?” he tilts his head, studies hinata for a second. “you’re attractive. average, but attractive. i think you would look better alive.”

jesus, this guy rambles a lot. “... that’s sort of fucked up,” is all hinata says back. 

“likely!” 

hinata’s briefly interested, which is more than he can say for the past half of his life. which is cool, in a way. even though there are two sort-of suicidal people on a balcony, just sort of sitting there, chatting idly, not even really _friends._ because it’s not like he trusts komaeda with fucking anything, but he’s sort of intrigued by the random shit he blurted out. 

_i think you would look better alive._

… huh. he had said that, and. it’s almost reassuring, in a weird way. in a very, very weird way.

“what even happened on your other attempts?” he finds himself asking. he needs new suicide fantasies, he thinks with half-assed dark humor. it’s not even true. hardly anything is, though, and it’s not like he’s gonna talk with komaeda about dogs or anything.

komaeda tucks his knees to his chest and rests his chin on his legs. his shoes look expensive. must be weird, wearing them to die or something. what clothes does hinata even want to wear when he dies? “well, the first time was sort of an accident! i was used to being dehydrated and starved, so i sort of accidentally did that! the second time, i got a gun, but the gun jammed and someone saw me through the curtains. the third…” he continues on, and hinata listens with half interest. by the time they hit the most recent attempt, the reason the two of them are sitting there, hinata’s interest sort of festers.

“and that’s why i’m here!” is the definitive conclusion, and hinata sits up and grabs komaeda’s hand. komaeda looks at him weirdly, which makes sense, and asks, “hinata-kun, are you okay?”

“i’m leaving,” he explains bluntly.

komaeda’s smile quirks in a weird way. “ah, it’s awfully presumptuous to assume i would want to leave as well.”

“well, you’re not killing yourself. i’m not killing myself. so, it’s like, who gives a shit. and, you’re interesting.” is his slightly better elaboration.

the other freezes, and hinata sighs, turning to face him. komaeda’s facial expression is one of shock, which is sort of odd considering nothing about what hinata just said was any news to him. but, komaeda bites his lip, and finally mumbles, “hinata-kun thinks i’m interesting?”

that’s fair enough, hinata guesses. he would be surprised if someone thought he was interesting, too. though it would be a good surprised, not the kind of surprise spread across komaeda’s face right now. but, to each their own. insecurities vary. traumas vary. everything fucking varies. “hinata-kun thinks you’re interesting,” he confirms, sort of mocking him. 

komaeda giggles, which is almost endearing in an off way, because hinata should probably be the one laughing, here. “ah, that’s very kind of him. of you. but, i’m not sure if we should continue to see each other.”

hinata shrugs. “whatever. i have to study for some tests, anyway, and i’m not exactly swearing my life to you or anything.”

“you could,” and komaeda’s eyes light up. “you could make a pact with me.”

“i’m not fucking with suicide pacts.”

komaeda pouts. it’s endearing, again. “shame.”

“i know, right.” it’s probably the driest hinata’s humor has been. “anyway. i’m leaving, now. and you’re leaving with me, i guess, because i’m holding your hand for some reason.” it’s cold, on that note. not bad, but cold. it’s actually kind of pleasant, the way that the fingers curl around his, sort of soft but dry at the same time. 

“... okay,” komaeda gives in, but it’s not very enthusiastic. which is whatever, since komaeda’s been the sole source of enthusiasm for the past however-long they’ve been outside. “can i come back to your dorm? not that i would want to be in a reserve’s dorm, but. you _are_ the one holding my hand, so.”

hinata blames the blush on the wind (still loud), “sure. i have to study, but if you just want to stare at a wall,” which hinata himself has done plenty of times, “be my guest.”

“i will.” he sounds pretty self assured.

with that, hinata starts walking again, pushing open the roof doors and walking down the stairs. there’s a lot running through his head, ranging from _you’re absolutely worthless_ to _kiss him_ to _happy birthday_ to _throw yourself off the roof what’s the harm what’s the harm_ **_you’ve never tried it_ **, 

but the wind is still louder.

(even when they’re inside. because, it’s not like he’s gonna forget that night for a while. even when komaeda tries to jump off that roof, a year later, and hinata only figures it out a couple months later. because they aren’t friends. just two miserable fucking people, extremely tired and extremely manic all the fucking same.

_and it’s all so fucking loud._ )

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know how this one happened, i'm not gonna lie
> 
> i am. very tired. and not doing the best mentally but like. y'know. vibin. i sit down. start writing this shit. it veers in a completely different direction, and i fucking go with it ig and here we are
> 
> i mean. it was cathartic as all hell. but y'know. sort of a lot. sorry about that. as a heads up, i'm okay, and i will be okay, no worries
> 
> anyway, sorry for also just??? fucking disappearing LDFSKAJ i've been working on shit, and school starts in maybe 5-ish days? so, yeah, i've been busy. i'm active on my tumblr, fieldsofsunflowers8. a little too active. i'm way too fucking active.
> 
> please stay safe, darlings. i love you a lot. i mean that. and when i say you are wanted on this earth, i mean that. i love you. <3


End file.
